When Darkness Falls
by MellyrnUinSilme
Summary: Frodo and Sam failed to destroy the Ring. Sauron is preparing to take over Middle-earth, and Morgoth has escaped the Void. Middle-earth is ready to fall into their rule, but Aragorn is not about to let that happen. Warnings: Major Character Death, possibly slash (not sure yet), swearing, violence
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I am picking the story up from right after Gandalf rejected the Mouth of Sauron's terms. (The Return of the King, Book 5, partway through Chapter 10). Events up to this point are book-canon

movie!verse and book!verse

WARNINGS: swearing, violence, major character death, *possibly* slash. I wasn't planning on it, but it might end up being included.

Mild spoilers, but nothing huge since I am going AU-ish with this.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Lord of the Rings! All rights belong to their respective owners. I am not making any money off this. Any dialog you recognize has been taken from the movies or books.

Enjoy!

Gandalf had rejected the Mouth of Sauron's terms. As much as Aragorn was grieved for the loss of Frodo and Sam, somehow he did not believe that they were dead. Frodo and Sam were surely alive. They would have felt it if Sauron had claimed the Ring. Yes, Frodo and Sam were alive- for now. How long they stayed that way was now up to Aragorn.

Their lives were in his hands. And he would not fail them. He turned to address his men. "Hold your ground! Hold your ground." He had faith in his troops. They could do this. They had to.

The light was nothing more than a red haze, a light from Orodruin and the rivers of molten lava that flowed through Mordor. The air felt ashy and dry, like a poisonous fume. The Nazgûl's cries permeated the air, spreading a blanket of dread over himself and his troops. Horns blew, drums beat, and an immeasurable amount of Orcs and Easterlings poured around the Men of the West from all directions. They were surrounded.

He ordered the archers to fire. He was aware of Elladan and Elrohir at his side, calmly notching their arrows. His brothers were so confident, so calm, that Aragorn felt himself grow stronger just by being near them.

The orcs fired back. Their arrows hit their marks, and many of his men fell around him. Now was the time to charge.

Aragorn readied Andúril, preparing to run at the opposing army, when something stopped him. Through the Black Gates, The Eye of the Enemy was glaring straight at him. They locked gazes. This was Sauron, the Enemy who had cost countless lives, murdered so many innocent souls. Who had destroyed people's homes and splattered blood across the pages of history. Aragorn was suddenly filled with determination. He would avenge his people.

"Aragorn...Elessar..." Aragorn heard Sauron's voice hissing across the battlefield at him. Aragorn lowered his sword, transfixed by Sauron's gaze. Sauron seemed to be telling him something. As he peered into the fiery depths of Sauron's Eye, he saw a vision of himself.

He was at Rivendell, sitting on one of the comfortable sofas in the library. The air smelled sweet, and sunlight filtered into the room. Red, green, and gold leaves fell from the trees. Elladan and Elrohir we practicing their archery on the training fields, hitting the center of the mark from twenty yards. Elrond was strolling through the gardens, stopping to talk to some of the elves. The door opened, and Arwen walked into the room, smiling at him. She held a small child by the hand. His child, Aragorn realized. Arwen sat down next to him on the sofa, leaning in to kiss him.

This vision was a promise. Sauron was offering this to him. All Aragorn had to do was give himself up, and he could have exactly what was in that vision. Although a part of him resisted, telling himself that this wasn't right, Aragorn prepared to go to Sauron.

Then he heard another voice. This voice was inside his head, he realized. It was telling him something, reminding him what he was here to do. The voice was sweet, and soft, and somehow familiar. It brought images into his head, of green hills, merry voices, and a gentle smile. The voice was like running water in a small brook, and like musical Elven voices. It brought an image into Aragorn's head. An image of brown curls and bright blue eyes. A face he had seen for the first time outside of Bree...

Aragorn turned around to look at his friends, and he knew Sauron's vision was nothing but lies. That voice reminded him why he was there. It wasn't for some illusion of Sauron's, he was there...

"For Frodo," he said, then turned around, and he ran towards the armies of Mordor.

Then he was surrounded.

Immersed in the battle, he slashed, chopped, ducked, and swung his sword around like he never had before. He cut down enemy after enemy, never tiring.

At one point, he caught sight of Gandalf, swinging his staff and slicing with his sword. He was splattered with mud and the blood of his enemies, but he kept going without ever slowing down.

A particularly large Orc came at Aragorn. Aragorn ducked its first swing, spun around behind the Orc, and stabbed Andúril through its back.

Eomer was fighting next to him at one point. He was so strong, cutting through orcs and Easterlings alike as though they were made of butter. At one point, he was fighting three Easterlings at once and destroyed all of them within seconds.

Legolas had pulled out his knife and was using it with the utmost grace and agility that only an elf could possess. Gimli fought next to him, wielding his axes with amazing strength.

Imrahil was slicing through his assailants with acute precision, and next to him Pippin was holding his own against any opposition who dared to come near him. For one so small, Pippin was an amazing warrior.

A massive troll came at Aragorn. At first, Aragorn had no problem. He dodged the troll's clumsy swings and stabbed at the troll's rough skin wherever he could. Then the troll managed to hit him off balance. Aragorn fell over, landing on his back. He could see Legolas fighting like he never had seen him fight before to get to him, literally shoving orcs aside and ripping them apart as he tried to get to him. The pain and fear on Legolas' face was awful to see. His friends should never look like that because of him. He felt an overwhelming rush of gratitude. He knew, however, as the troll pinned him under its foot, that it was too late. But then Legolas was there, hacking at the troll with his knife, and then Gandalf came, then Eomer, and before Aragorn knew it the troll lay dead on the battlefield, literally torn apart by his friends who had come to Aragorn's defense. He nodded his thanks at them, and continued fighting, knowing that there would be time to better express his thanks later.

Or at least, he hoped there would be a later. Because the orcs and Easterlings just kept coming, and Aragorn could see no end to the enemies pouring out of Mordor. He was rapidly losing men, and his position on the battlefield. He fought even harder, but he knew it was in vain. He had to do something, or they would all die.

He called for a retreat. "Pull back! Pull back!" he shouted. His men got the message and they turned and fled from the gates of Mordor.

A/N: Okay! How was that? Let me know what you thought, even if you hated it!

In case some things weren't clear, I will take this opportunity to explain: Aragorn and his army are at the Black Gate. fight are challenging Sauron head-on to provide "A diversion." (Thank you movie-Legolas for providing us with your life-changing wisdom.) Sorry. Sidetracked there. Anyways, they were providing Frodo and Sam with a distraction. Where my story differs from the movie/book is when Aragorn calls for the armies to retreat. In the book/movie, Frodo and Sam destroy the Ring before Aragorn and his armies are overwhelmed. But this is fanfiction! I can change stuff like that! So, I hope this clarified a few things.

If you have any questions, comments, concerns, suggestions, just let me know! You can tell me in a review or PM me. The next chapter will be from Sam's pov (point of view). This will be updated as regularly as I can, and the story will hopefully improve and make more sense by the third or fourth chapter. Thank you for reading!

(Review! Aragorn will give you cookies!)


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Hey guys, I'm back! I don't know if I'll always be so quick to update, it depends on how many reviews I get. I hope this chapter came out all right. I spent a long time editing it. So, enjoy!

Sam was no stranger to exhaustion. He had walked for miles and miles, across marshes and mountains, up nearly vertical stairs, and across the barren plains of Mordor. He had given up most of his food so that Frodo had enough, he had put up with Gollum, and he had been hunted and chased across the entire land of Middle-earth. But never before had he felt like this. The Ring was calling to him, trying to corrupt him. It had been trying for the entire journey. But now that it was so close to the place it had been created, its power was at least tripled. It took a kind of strength Sam didn't knew he possessed to keep going. But he had to, for Frodo.

Sam finally made it through the door to the Cracks of Doom. Frodo stood on the edge of the cliff, holding the Ring over the abyss before him. "Frodo!" Sam called frantically. Why hadn't he thrown it in yet?

"I'm here Sam," Frodo said, turning.

"Destroy it!" Frodo turned back around. What was taking him so long? All he had to do was throw the Ring in. Then it would be done. Over. "Go on! Now! Throw it in the fire!" Still Frodo hesitated. "What are you waiting for! Just let it go!" His last word seemed to echo around the massive chamber. An eerie silence set in. It seemed to last forever. Then Frodo turned around.

"The Ring is mine."

This was it. The thing he had been most dreading, ever since he discovered the enormity of the quest and the power of the Ring. "No..." Sam whispered. "No..." Then Frodo put the Ring on. "Noooooo!" Sam shouted. Not now, not when they had come so close. Not Frodo. Why should Frodo have had to carry that burden? It should have been himself who had to do it. Frodo had so much to live for. But now, the only thing Sam could see for their future was death.

Then he felt a blinding pain on the back of his head. Sam fell forward and saw Gollum leap past him, towards Frodo. Sam did his best to stand, trying to get to his friend, but Gollum got there first. Sam could only think how insane Gollum looked, fighting with nothing, but he knew that Frodo was there, invisible. As they wrestled back and forth, Gollum grabbed something and raised it to his mouth. There was a loud, nauseating crack, and Frodo reappeared, crying out with agony, Gollum holding Frodo's detached finger in his hand. He pulled the Ring off and threw the finger aside.

Then Frodo stood, tackling Gollum again, and even though Frodo's hand was a bleeding mess, he still possessed incredible strength. He fought harder than Sam had ever seen him fight before, trying to get the Ring from Gollum. The two were wresting back and forth, surrounded by fire and ash, a thousand-foot drop into one of the most deadly places in Middle-earth just inches away from them.

And then Frodo managed to pin Gollum down, wrestling the Ring from him. He stood up, a smile of victory on his face. But it wasn't Frodo's smile, Sam thought. Frodo's smile was sweet, and gentle, and beautiful. This smile was that of an insane person finally achieving their goal.

Frodo stood over Gollum, tilting his head as though deciding what to do. Then, even as Gollum struggled to his feet, Frodo pushed him. Hard. And Gollum tumbled over the sided of the cliff, letting out a horrible shriek.

Sam felt his mouth drop open, and tears came to his eyes. This was not the Frodo he knew and cared for. Frodo would never have committed murder, much less in cold blood. Never. The Ring had taken hold of him. It had been doing so for such a long time, but Sam had been too blind to see it. Maybe, if he had looked closer, he would have discovered how much pain his friend was in. Maybe he could have helped him, done something to save him. But now it was too late.

Frodo held the Ring up, looking at it with an expression of pure glee. Then he put the Ring on his finger for the second time in the Cracks of Doom, disappearing before Sam's eyes.

Sam sat down on the ground, feeling to tired even to cry. They were coming for them, he knew. He was sure they would be dead within half an hour, if it even took that long.

As he sat, waiting for his impending death, images came into his mind. They were all scenes of his past. Any memory that had ever meant anything to him now visited him again. He saw Rosie Cotton dancing, himself gardening with his father, running through the woods, laughing, playing with the other hobbits as a young child. Then memories from the quest came. He remembered how naive he was when they started the quest. He had actually thought Caradhras was Mount Doom, for Eru's sake. He almost laughed at the thought. More memories came. Boromir teaching Merry and Pippin to fight, Legolas and Gimli arguing about something again, but they were never that serious about it, Gandalf talking to Frodo. He wondered where they all were now. Gandalf and Boromir, he knew, were dead, but the others? Sam had no idea. He missed them all. He knew, now, that he would never go back to them. It was probably for the best anyways. They had failed, Sam thought. As much as he didn't want to believe it, they had. They had tried their hardest but in the end it didn't matter. Sauron would still get the Ring back.

Sam still didn't want to accept it, though. Something was holding him back from completely giving up. And then, another memory played through his mind. Himself, talking to Frodo. "But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back only they didn't. They kept going. Because they were holding on to something," he had said. "What are we holding on to Sam?"

"That there's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo. And it's worth fighting for." And that, Sam realized, was exactly it. Here he was, sitting in the heart of Mordor, waiting for death, but somehow he couldn't give up and that was because he had fought. He had given his life for a cause. When they came to kill him, he would be ready. Because he knew that he won't have given his life in vain because he had given it for a reason.

He felt at peace.

Then he remembered Frodo. He remembered that it wasn't over yet. He could still save them.

He felt a surge of protectiveness. No one would touch Frodo, not while he was still alive. If they wanted to get to Frodo, they would have to go through him first.

Frodo may not be himself right now, the Ring might have corrupted him, but Sam was Frodo's best friend. He cared for Frodo like a brother. He wouldn't let anything happen to them. They would make it out of this alive, or at least Frodo would.

Sam wondered how it had come to this. He had set out from Rivendell knowing the dangers, and he had been prepared to give his life. After all, this was all for the people of Middle-earth. He had changed more than he had realized over the quest. For better, or worse, he didn't know.

Then he heard the cries of the Nazgûl. They chilled him to the bone. Any last delusion disappeared. They were close now. So close. And when they got here, he and Frodo would be killed. And there was nothing Sam could do about it.

Sam began to shake. He was deluding himself if he thought that they would survive this. He wanted nothing more than to find Frodo and put an arm around him, to comfort him in the last minute of their lives, but Frodo was invisible and not himself. He would not know Sam even if Sam managed to find him.

Then Sam felt a presence approaching...or several presences. He stood up. Shaking and clammy, he turned to face the entrance to the Cracks of Doom.

He wished more than anything that he hadn't.

Eight Nazgûl stood in the doorway.

Their tattered, black cloaks blew violently in the wind. They faced him, regarding him coldly. Sam could not see their faces, but he knew for sure that there was no mercy in them.

Sam heard quiet footsteps approaching him. He could not see Frodo, but he knew that he stood not far from him.

The Ringwraiths began to walk forward. Slowly and silently, like a funeral procession. So much like that one night on Weathertop. Sam thought he would die then, too, but Strider had come to their rescue.

Now there was no one to save them.

The wraiths still moving closer, Sam felt a tear slide down his face. He stepped closer to where he knew Frodo to be, and felt wildly for his friend's hand. Finding it, Sam grabbed it tightly, not caring that it was slick with blood. If he they were to die, Sam did not want them to go alone.

The Nazgûl stopped, just feet away from them. One stepped forward, away from the others, drawing a knife from its rusty sheath. The knife glinted silver in the dim light. Sam desperately tried to pull himself and Frodo back, away from the wraith, but Frodo resisted, not wanting to move. The Ring was calling him to the Nazgûl, telling him to give in.

Using the last of his strength, Sam yanked Frodo's arm, pulling him away from the wraiths. He backed up, until they were standing against the ledge. They were out of time. There was nowhere else to go.

This was it.

Sam found himself thinking that, despite the fact he was going to die, he was glad he was with Frodo, here at the end of all things.

The wraith had followed them. He stood just a few feet away from them. Sam found himself stepping in front of Frodo, lifting his chin in defiance. They would not touch Frodo. Not while Sam was still alive.

As though reading his thoughts, the wraith tilted his head, lifted his sword, and stabbed.

Sam cried out, his vision going blurry. He doubled over, feeling a terrible, piercing pain in his chest. Looking up, he could see the Nazgûl in their real forms. He collapsed on the ground. The world around him was was dark and shadowy. He supposed this was the Shadow World, as he had heard Frodo describe it once. Wait. Frodo. Now that Sam was in the Shadow World, he should be able to see...

Sam did his best to turn around, looking for Frodo. What he saw made him hurt as if the wraith was twisting his knife in Sam's flesh.

The Nazgûl held Frodo by the neck. Lifting him off the ground, the wraith readied his knife. Although Frodo writhed in protest, trying desperately to free himself, the wraith was stronger. He lifted the knife and stabbed it deep into Frodo's heart.

Sam screamed, as Frodo's face contorted in pain. The wraith dropped

Frodo on the ground, then bent and yanked the Ring off of his finger. Frodo lay on he ground, struggling for breath. Sam ignored his own wound and crawled towards him, wanting to do anything he could to help.

But he never made it that far. His vision going blurry, his breath leaving his body, all Sam could do was grab tightly to Frodo's hand again, as he sank into darkness. A searing pain filled him, then a light filled his vision, and he knew no more.

A/N: Errrm... Okay... That was supposed to be really sad. I hope that I managed to get the feelings across right. I'm sorry if it's a little weird, or didn't make sense or something. The next chapters probably won't be written in the same way as this. So, review! Let me know what you think, even if you hated it!


	3. Chapter 3

*AN: Hello again! *sigh* I'm sorry for the long wait. Life got in the way and stole my writing time. Well, I hope you enjoy it!*

Aragorn felt like a coward. He hated to run from the fight, knowing that his retreat might cost Frodo and Sam their lives.

He didn't know where they should go to regroup. Minas Tirith was too far away, and he didn't want to go anywhere too close to Minas Morgul. He supposed that they should march to Ithilien, and make camp there while they recovered their strength.

Aragorn called for a break. They were now seven miles from the Black Gate. It was really as far as he could hope to get in his troops' present state.

He surveyed his troops. The men, what few of them were left, were exhausted and scared. They had started out with just fewer than six thousand, and Aragorn estimated they had approximately four and a half thousand now. Aragorn had no idea how he was supposed to make any kind of stand against Mordor with so few, but he knew he had to act confident in front of his troops. Besides, the point was not to win the battle, but to cause a distraction from Frodo and Sam. Aragorn hoped they were alright. He wondered how close they were to the mountain, if they still had enough supplies. He supposed it was pointless to worry himself with such things when all he could do to help them was to distract Sauron.

Then all of a sudden the sky grew even darker. Lightning cracked across the sky. Then Aragorn gasped. A feeling was washing through him, a wave of fear that Aragorn had never felt before. He felt, deep down inside him, that there was no hope. That he should give up. He knew something was wrong. Looking up at his men, he could tell they felt it too.

He ordered the troops to set up camp, hoping that whatever the problem was, he could deal with it in the morning.

"My lord?"

Aragorn woke with a start. What was going on? It was still dark outside, there must be some kind of emergency-

"It's dark. What is going on?" he asked Eomer, who has poked his head into Aragorn's tent.

"It's morning. The sun never rose today. We don't know what's going on, but everyone can feel that something is wrong. And, out scouts report that a group from Mordor is coming towards the camp."

"Have weapons ready, but do not attack yet. Thank you Eomer." Eomer nodded and exited the tent, leaving Aragorn to dress and strap his weapons on. Aragorn exited the tent, looking up at the sky. As Eomer said, it was dark. The land around him seemed to have dimmed, as though all the color was being sucked out of it.

A thick black cloud seemed to have covered the entire sky. Although Aragorn searched for several minutes, he couldn't see the sun anywhere. A shout from their lookout group brought him back to his surroundings. A group of five orcs and an ambassador on a horse had approached the campsite. The orcs were carrying two large bundles with them, wrapped in several layers of cloth.

Aragorn quickly walked over to the group. "What business do you have here?"

Then the ambassador spoke in a voice that sent chills down Aragorn's spine, "My lord has sent me with... *information* for you."

*AN: So, there it is! Please, pretty please review. Feedback means so much to me! It helps me stay motivated to keep going, and helps me improve my writing. I haven't had very many reviews on this, and it would really boost my morale to get some more. So, please, just take a few seconds to give me some feedback!

I will continue updating this! I'm sorry this chapter is short:/ Thanks!*


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